So every once in a while I like to reach back to my teen years.
Mine were a bit different.
When others were screaming about the Beatles, or my buds were grooving on the Animals, I was more into classical.
I didn’t even know it.
Nobody around me enjoyed the same, so I kept that to myself.
Dad had a state of the art HiFi stereo in the rec room of the bottom floor.
The speakers were the size of furniture.
The stylus picked up wonderful things from an orchestra.
One day, alone in the house, I found myself secreting Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture into that rec room, like a boy taking a playboy to the bathroom.
The stereo had a set of ear phones the size of English muffins.
I slid Tchaikovsky out of the jacket.
Gently caressing the vinyl edges with my fingertips, I set the album on the turntable, moved the arm, adjusted the headset to full volume, and sat back on the overstuffed rocker, looking out thru the bay window at the storm tossing the fir trees back and forth. Rain beating on the glass harmonized with my tears.
Oh the wondrous tempest of a youth in full hormonal war……I have yet to be as moved.
however, this went well with my morning
http://youtu.be/N0cpKzDoOdA
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